The Time of Two
Clary flung the dagger, desperately willing it to find its target. This was her one final chance, and the stakes were high. The blade hurtled through the air, a streak of burning silver. It struck home, swift and true—and half a centimeter off center.
“Damn it,” said Clary.
Jace Herondale, her handsome, graceful, angelically coordinated, and supernaturally good-looking (and boy, did he know it) fiancé, raised his fist in a triumphant gesture. “When are you going to learn never to bet against the best Shadowhunter of his generation?”
Clary leaned against the training room wall, flexing her wrist. They’d been at this for hours. “One more time? Double or nothing?”
“You said that last time, and the time before. If we were playing for money I’d be rich by now.”
“You are rich,” Clary reminded him. It was technically true—the Herondales, like many of the old Shadowhunter families, possessed a ridiculously complex collection of assets, many of which were now held in Jace’s name.
(When Kit Herondale turned eighteen, the full value of the assets would be split between the two Herondales.) On the other hand, a mansion in Idris wouldn’t do anyone much good as long as Idris was being held hostage by a “cult of wannabe stormtroopers,” as Simon liked to call them.
“And anyway, we’re not playing for money, we’re playing for cake. ”
“Indeed, and as the winner of—let’s see, seventeen throws in a row?”
Clary made a face. “I’m out of practice.”
“I’m sure you are, Fray. But I believe this win entitles me to choose the flavor of our wedding cake. And I’m thinking toasted bat.”
“That is not a flavor of wedding cake,” Clary said.
“I’ll have you know that it’s one of Taki’s most popular sandwiches. And think of your parabatai. Simon will love it: a little blast from the past.”
“Ha, hilarious.” Clary set down her weapons belt. “You know it doesn’t really matter what we choose, right? The wedding is years off, if it happens ever.”
“Clary.” Jace dropped his teasing tone, reaching out to pull her toward him. She let herself melt against him, leaning her head against his chest. “If you wanted to, we could get married tomorrow.”
“I know.” Deciding to marry Jace had been the best decision of Clary’s life, and she was pretty pleased with the choice to make it a double wedding with Simon and Isabelle too.
But it had come with a vow they’d all made: They wouldn’t tie the knot until the current situation—the Clave being split, with a third of the world’s young Shadowhunters having walled themselves off in Idris—had resolved itself.
Unfortunately, as far as Clary could tell, the peace process was stalled out.
No matter how many times Alec reached out to Zara and the rest, no matter how many times a peace meeting was agreed on, the other side always backed out at the last minute.
Isabelle had thrown herself into the minutiae of wedding planning with a manic glee: centerpieces, color schemes, hors d’oeuvres, and on and on.
Clary could not summon the will to care about any of it when it seemed like the wedding might never happen.
They might as well have a bat-flavored wedding cake, since no one was ever going to eat it.
Clary suspected Isabelle had thrown herself into the planning as a way of convincing herself that the day would come. Clary wished she could do the same.
She leaned her head against Jace’s chest. It was a nice chest, objectively, and she loved hearing his heartbeat. She felt him thread his fingers through her hair. “It’ll happen,” he said. “The Cohort can’t hold out forever. They’re probably down to eating squirrels in there by now.”
“Doesn’t sound worse than toasted bat.” Clary leaned her head back and smiled up at Jace. “I’m tired. You want to go to bed?”
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Jace pointed out.
Clary looked up at him demurely. “I didn’t say I wanted to sleep.”
Jace’s eyes darkened, very slightly, to that shade of deep gold Clary loved. “Scandalous, Fray. I am scandalized.”
Clary laughed and took his hand. Together, they wove their way through the Institute corridors, toward the wing they’d made their own.
It still took Clary by surprise sometimes that this was her home.
This was her life. Running the New York Institute with Jace by her side.
Planning a future—a marriage, maybe someday a family—with the man she loved.
And, of course, fighting demons side by side with her parabatai and forever best friend Simon.
Most days nothing about her life seemed strange anymore.
But every once in a while, she remembered the futures she used to think up for herself as a little kid.
All of them mundane, in every sense of the word.
Life had turned out to be so much stranger—scarier, but also more wondrous—than she’d ever imagined it could be.
They were crossing the second floor toward the east wing when Clary suddenly came to a stop. To her surprise, there was someone in the living room.
The room had once been an office, but after Clary and Jace had taken over the Institute, Clary had been determined to make it more homey.
Jace didn’t mind either way, so she’d turned this space into a place with comfortable couches and bookshelves lined with fantasy novels and manga.
Afternoon sunlight was streaming through one of the mullioned windows, and in the light, Clary saw Maryse Lightwood sitting in an armchair, looking down at something she was holding in her hand.
This was strange. Maryse was sensitive about being seen as intrusive or overbearing; since she’d moved out of the Institute (and in with her boyfriend, Kadir) she rarely suddenly dropped by unless there was some kind of crisis.
Jace looked like he was having the same thought. He ducked into the living room, Clary just behind him. “Maryse?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
She jumped at the sound of her name, then smiled faintly. “Oh—nothing. I’m sorry to have startled you. I was just looking for something and I realized I must have left it here, in the Institute.”
She held out her hand, palm up. Gleaming there was a sturdy gold ring.
Clary recognized its seal, a design of clasped hands: This was a Trueblood family ring.
Sized, from the look of it, for a man. Clary was used to thinking of Maryse as a Lightwood—but of course, there had been a Maryse before Robert, and that Maryse had been a Trueblood.
Clary had never met another Trueblood; Maryse seemed to have no family other than her children.
“Everything okay?” Clary asked. “Did something happen?”
“Everything’s fine.” Maryse quickly folded her hand around the ring. “I shouldn’t have come.”
She sounded deeply regretful, as if she had done something much worse than pop by the Institute unannounced in search of some misplaced jewelry.
Jace and Clary exchanged a telling glance.
Of all the Lightwoods, Maryse was the least likely to confide her problems—and that was saying a lot.
Sometimes that made it too easy to forget she had feelings.
Clary sat down across from her, on a small plush love seat; Jace nestled in beside Clary.
“Maryse, we’re not kids anymore,” Jace said. “It’s not your job to protect us. Technically, now that we’re running the Institute, it’s our job to protect you. So if there’s something we should know about—”
“It’s nothing to do with Clave business,” Maryse said. “It’s…it was a long time ago.”
Jace looked at her with concern. It was strange, Clary thought, how eventually people started to switch places with their parents; once Maryse had worried about Jace, and now he worried about her. “Should I call Alec and Izzy? Family meeting?”
Maryse shook her head. “There really isn’t anything they could do. I already feel bad enough for bothering you.”
“We’re not bothered. We’d love to help,” said Clary. “Did something happen with Kadir?”
“No. Kadir and I are fine.” Maryse looked down at the gold ring in her hand. She said, “You know I had a brother. Well, have. Hopefully.”
“Max,” Jace said softly. Clary was confused for a moment, because Max was Jace’s brother, the little boy she’d gotten to know only briefly before he died.
And then Clary remembered. Maryse had an older brother, Max Trueblood.
He’d fallen in love with a mundane, back when Maryse was a teenager.
Which, according to Shadowhunter law, was forbidden.
Choosing to be with a mundane meant exile.
Max Trueblood had had his Marks stripped, and been forced to give up all contact with the Shadow World. Which included his sister.
Maryse had never spoken about him before.
“I was always grateful Robert agreed to name our son after my brother,” said Maryse. “There was gossip in the Clave about it. Why I wanted to memorialize someone who’d been a disgrace.”
“That’s horrible,” said Clary.
“It was the way people thought, back when it happened,” Maryse said. “For years after he left, I almost managed to forget I ever had a brother.”
“When’s the last time you spoke to him?” Jace asked.
“The day he was exiled,” Maryse said.
Most of this world had become normal to Clary, but the Shadowhunters’ determination to live by their code of ancient rules, no matter how cruel, would never stop being strange. Sed lex, dura lex, of course. But why did the Law always have to be so dura?
Maryse sighed. “This afternoon—I was thinking about your wedding. I know, it isn’t planned yet, but I remember when Alec got married, and seeing him up there with Magnus, I thought, Max should be here.
He should be watching his nephew get married.
And now—there’s another chance. So I sent him a fire-message. ”
Jace raised his eyebrows. “You sent a fire-message to a mundane?”
Maryse flushed. “I know—ridiculous. Not to mention forbidden, even if the rules about these things are a little more…flexible these days.”